


Winchester Christmas

by brokenlittleboy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Lots of kissing, M/M, Pre-Series, Weecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 03:51:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5524352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenlittleboy/pseuds/brokenlittleboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's having a bad Christmas, but Dean comes home to surprise him and makes it one of the best days of Sam's life. Tiny, adorable little Christmas fluff, Sam is 15 and Dean is 19.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winchester Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, everyone <3

It’s around seven-thirty in the morning on December twenty-fifth and Sam doesn’t think he could possibly feel lower. The feeling of holiday cheer had been completely obliterated for him the day he’d read Dad’s journal, and every year since then, Christmas has just been an anniversary of a majorly shitty day. This Christmas, however, takes the fucking cake. Usually, Dad’s nice enough to let Dean stay with Sam and buy some wings, watch a couple movies, but this time, they’re both gone, out hunting some spirit, making Sam stay behind to be the research lackey. They’ve been gone for three days, actually, and Sam’s a little worried. He wouldn’t be surprised, considering his track record, if his brother got injured on today of all days.

He wishes he could fall asleep and doze the whole day away, but it looks like his brain’s decided he’s staying conscious. Groaning, he flops over onto his stomach, mashing his face into the pillow and wondering why his life has amounted to a pile of shit. His stomach rumbles, and he ignores it, huffing quietly. Dad had given him a little allowance before he left but Sam had misjudged it and spent it all already. He couldn’t even afford a Christmas pizza.

He’s wallowing in his own miserable thoughts when he hears a scritch. His hunter instincts cause him to freeze, and he rises onto his elbows, straining to listen. The scritching continues, sounding like a squirrel’s claws on the wall or something, and then there’s a click.

The door.

Sam flops back down, playing dead, his heart pounding so hard against the mattress that he can feel it. He listens as the door creaks open, the intruder swearing and closing it slowly, making sure it doesn’t make another peep. Sam slips his hand up to the bowie knife under his pillow and waits. His breath sounds harsh against the cotton sheets, and he slows his inhales and exhales down until they sound like he’s sleeping.

The person putters around in the kitchen, humming a tune, opening and shutting kitchenette cabinets. There’s a crash and Sam hears a curse, a colorful curse in a gruff tone that he recognizes.

His heart lifts up before he can stop it. Could it really be Dean? Back in time for Winchester Christmas? It seems unlikely, it seems far-fetched and drawn out of Sam’s trampled-on hopes and dreams, but the familiarity of the steps and noises of the person are pretty solid evidence. Not only that, but there’s absolutely nothing worth stealing in this trash heap of a motel, and he doesn’t think anyone would be after him, either. Still, he lies waiting–he has to make sure, he was trained to. The grip of his knife is sweaty and gross and he curls his fingers around it tighter.

Footsteps shuffle into the bedroom and pause in the doorway. After a moment, they head over to Sam’s bedside and stop near his head. He opens one eye just a crack and sees faded, blood stained jeans from Goodwill.

“Sammy,” Dean rasps, and shakes him gently by the shoulder, “hey, Sammy, you up?”

Sam squeaks like a child and hefts himself upright, looking into Dean’s eyes. “Dean?” he asks, his voice lifting with the force of his smile, his dimples blooming into wide parentheses around his mouth. “Why are you here?”

Dean spreads his mittened hands wide, quirking a cheesy, lopsided grin at Sam. A santa hat flops across his head. “Couldn’t miss Winchester Christmas, could I?” he says, and Sam doesn’t wait for a moment to hurl himself into Dean’s arms.

He feels Dean’s chuckle against his face as he hugs Dean tightly, his cheek pressed up against his chest. He wraps his arms around Dean and Dean bends down, his broad hands slipping under Sam’s ass and hauling him out of bed and up into the air. Sam wraps his legs around Dean’s waist and loops his arms around Dean’s neck, pillowing his head on Dean’s collarbone. Dean holds him close enough to hurt and carries him into the main room, where chicken wings, pizza, and root beer cover the table, a tiny pine tree from the motel’s main office up on the kitchen counter and glowing softly with multicolored lights.

“Did you steal that?” Sam laughs, his voice muffled by Dean’s shirt.

“Eh, they weren’t missing it,” Dean says, grunting as he sets Sam down. They load paper plates up with food and head over to the couch, legs moving in sync. They fight over the remote for a bit before Dean wins and puts on Ghostbusters, which Sam would’ve chosen, anyway. They both dig in like starved pigs, making the right noises, too, getting barbeque sauce all over their faces. Sam’s grin is permanently plastered to his face, and he loves the simple feeling of Dean’s body pressed against his, Dean’s arm slung casually around his little shoulders. It makes him feel wanted. Which reminds him.

“Is Dad coming home, too?” he asks.

Dean’s quiet for a moment, and Sam hears the Stay-Puft Marshmallow man cackling in the background. “Nah,” he says, trying too hard for casual, making his real emotions all that more obvious.

“That’s okay,” Sam says, catching Dean’s eye and faking a smile, “at least you came.”

“It’s sort of a good thing that it’s just me, actually,” Dean says, leaning forward and setting his empty plate down on the table. “It means I can do this.”

Sam opens his mouth to ask something he forgets the moment Dean’s hands frame his face, his fingers slipping into Sam’s hair and rubbing at his temples. Sam’s eyes fall closed as Dean pulls his face toward him, his soft lips parting Sam’s just a moment later.

Sam loses himself in the kiss, the sounds of the movie blurring away along with everything except for Dean’s heat, Dean’s smell, the feel of Dean’s body against his. Dean’s lips are just as skilled as ever, his tongue lapping up against the roof of Sam’s mouth, and god, Sam has missed this. Their Dad has been with them almost twenty-four seven for a few weeks, and it’s been driving Sam crazy because they couldn’t do this. Dean’s making up for lost time, a hand sliding down Sam’s body to grip his hips, tugging and manhandling Sam into his lap. Sam goes along eagerly, tasting the root beer in Dean’s mouth, tucking his legs on either side of Dean’s.

Dean pulls back, looking up at him with heavy-lidded eyes and blown pupils. Sam’s breath is taken away by Dean’s easy beauty, and his heart can’t believe that this amazing boy loves him back, finds something worthwhile in him. His eyes are going watery despite himself, and Dean reaches up to swipe away moisture with the pad of his thumb.

“Merry Christmas, Sammy,” Dean whispers, eyes twinkling.

“Merry Christmas, Dean,” Sam whispers back, pushing Dean back into the cushions and kissing him senseless. Dean’s hands slip up the back of Sam’s shirt and rub circles in his back, and Sam decides Christmas really doesn’t have to be so bad.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments appreciated <3


End file.
